


With nothing better to do

by kjollar



Series: Freedom's strange ways [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bethany and Fenris's budding friendship, Gen, M/M, Mini Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjollar/pseuds/kjollar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When the door to his private chambers opened, however, Fenris was forced to reevaluate his assumptions. It was indeed a Hawke on his doorstep; only not the Hawke he was expecting to see.</i>
</p><p>A short trip to the Sundermount with Bethany turns out to be a perfect way for Fenris to learn something new about both Hawkes - and about himself as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With nothing better to do

Someone was knocking on his door.  
Or, more precisely, a _certain_ someone was knocking: a complicated pattern of the knocks that differed from door to door was too distinct to leave any doubt in the visitor’s identity. Fenris tilted his head, listening for the progressively louder sounds – there were a lot of doors on the way to the lounge he’d chosen to stay in, and the visitor never missed a single one of them in his courteous wish to announce his presence. As many times as he tried, the elf could not discern the pattern’s significance. Perhaps it was only a way to distinguish this knock from any others, in which case the effort was unnecessary: Hawke was the only one polite enough to knock anyway.  
Still, the fereldan always insisted on conforming to redundant social traditions.  
Funny, how at first glance Hawke - with his shaved head, intricate tattoos highlighting the cheekbones, bulky armor and handle of a battleaxe over the left shoulder – didn’t really associate with tact. On the other hand, an unselfconscious demonstration of power went a long way to inspire politeness in any potential antagonist. (Not that Fenris ever found himself a victim of Hawke’s extremely well-mannered intimidation, even when he himself suspected he deserved it. Oh no, he only ever received sincere politeness – hence the knocking.)  
Fenris wondered briefly what new adventure Hawke was going to propose this time. There was no question of him going – he was bound by the promise he’d made on the night of their first meeting, and moreover, he didn’t really have anything better to do at any given moment, but still. The fereldan always managed to find the weirdest little quests among the mundane tasks mercenaries were usually hired for – what with dragons in the mines and pirates in the Chantry – so Fenris was understandably curious about this new venture.  
When the door to his private chambers opened, however, the elf was forced to reevaluate his assumptions. It was indeed a Hawke on his doorstep; only not the Hawke he was expecting to see.  
“What do you want, mage?” the question was maybe a little more abrupt that the visitor deserved, but Fenris wasn’t inclined to dwell on the reasons for his disappointment.  
“Well, good to know that I need to tow Terrance along if I am to hope for your hospitality, meager though it is,” Bethany commented snidely. There was no need for her wide sweeping gesture to remind him of the general inhospitable look of his claimed living quarters. Fenris lifted his eyebrows, silently inviting her to kindly get to the point or leave him be. “Very well,” she huffed, irritated, and folded her arms, “I have a business proposition for you, if it is not beneath you to hear the words of this lowly mage”.  
If it were anyone else Fenris would have just scoffed at the demonstration and readily agreed that it was indeed beneath him, but in the months that he knew this particular mage she somehow managed to win his grudging respect, being almost the exact opposite of all things he despised in her kind; and also she was Terrance Hawke’s sister.  
“What is it that you want of me?” he asked darkly.  
Bethany opened her mouth, evidently powering up for a new reprimand, but then shut it with a sigh. “All right, I get it,” she muttered almost as an aside, before once more turning her gaze on the elf. “I need some assistance with a short expedition to the Sundermount,” she stated firmly.  
“And by assistance you mean protection,” Fenris suggested, hiding his bemusement under a veil of condescension. Slight narrowing of the girl’s eyes was the only sign of her vexation.  
“Whatever you want to call it,” she obviously wasn’t thrilled by his tone, but chose to maintain her composure. “The expedition itself isn’t violent in nature, so it is more of a precaution really. For your troubles I will pay you ten percent of my profits, rising up to twenty five in the event of my actually needing your protection.”  
“What is it that you need to do on Sundermount?” The vaguely hostile tone was abandoned in favor of professional neutrality (and also because Bethany too possessed her brother’s skill of wielding politeness as a weapon and used it quite adeptly, if not with the same flare, to shame her opposition into compliance).  
“I wish to frolic in the fields and gather flowers, as befits the noble lady of Kirkwall,” the youngest Hawke answered haughtily.  
“You…” Fenris was thrown for a moment, “…obviously spend too much time around Varrik,” he concluded with an exasperated shake of his head. Bethany smiled, pleased with the effect, before turning from joking back to business.  
“Seriously though, I do intend to gather flowers amongst other things. Herbalists, circle mages and even chantry pay good coin for the rarer specimens, and it is as good a way as any to raise money for our expedition. Terrance’s penchant for heroics usually doesn’t leave me with a lot of time to gather herbs, but I’ve noticed a lot of useful ones during our travels. Unfortunately, it’s not wise for a young girl to wander alone anywhere around Kirkwall, much less venture into the wilds,” the explanation managed to sound both sincere and sarcastic – a strange combination Fenris sometimes heard from her brother, when he chose not to be unbearably diplomatic. “So, do you accept my terms?” Bethany demanded, yanking his thoughts away from the instinctive comparison.  
Fenris doubted he would have refused to come in any case: he literally had nothing better to do if you didn’t count waiting for his old master to personally come to reclaim his lost property. But of course he wasn’t going to share this sad fact of his existence with an apostate, so Bethany received a put-upon sigh and a curt nod.  
“I expect my payment to be delivered promptly after conclusion of your trade with the herbalists,” he added. The elf didn’t want to create an impression that he was some sort of mage charity, and money was always a pleasant bonus to the respite from boredom.  
“Let’s not waste time then!” the girl exclaimed, not in the least perturbed by the sullen attitude. “We’re going immediately.”  
Since the weapon was never too far to grab and the armor was almost like a second skin, Fenris was ready to go in as much time as it took him to get up from his armchair.

Their walk was silent so far, and Fenris was surprised to notice that at some point in time it started to feel uncomfortable. Apparently, over the recent months he had managed to grow accustomed to nearly constant chatter that Hawke’s companions indulged in at any given moment except for (or in some cases, even in the middle of) battle. He tried to stay away from it at first, but over time found himself drawn into various discussions. Some of them grew into passionate debates, some others even dissolved into sincere laughter, and all in all Fenris came to rely on the sound of others’ voices to hold dark thoughts and feelings at bay.  
“Wouldn’t it be more practical to take one of the other mages on this kind of trip?”  
Bethany’s face flashed with surprise for a brief moment but then her expression smoothed out.  
“Oh, no, not them. Merrill is just too… Merrill, you know; and Anders’s _plus one_ really creeps me out.”  
“Plus one?” Fenris turned his gaze from the surroundings and aimed a questioning frown at his companion.  
“M-hm, the Spirit of Justice,” she said, as if that should make her previous words perfectly clear.  
Fenris didn’t like to be kept in the dark, especially when it concerned mages – moreover, mages that he occasionally had protecting his back. “What are you talking about?”  
“You didn’t know? Oh, dear!” Bethany’s hand went halfway to her mouth as if expecting to catch the traitorous words. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything about it then…”  
“But now that you have, will you please tell me the rest?” his tone left no doubt that it wasn’t really a request.  
Bethany bit her lip thoughtfully. “It is better that you know, I guess…” she muttered to herself. “All right. It all started because Varrik said we needed maps with entrances into Deep Roads. Terrance told you that we are going to be partners in an expedition, right?”  
“Yes. You were there when he did,” Fenris scowled. He wanted the apostate to get to the point and would have also preferred to watch her more closely while she told her tale, but Bethany was resolutely marching along the trail and showed no desire to stop and have this chat face to face.  
“So, we needed maps and there were rumors of a renegade Grey Warden who helped fereldans somewhere in Darktown. Turned out, rumors were true, and he even had the maps, but wasn’t interested in selling them – not that we had a lot of money at the time – and instead proposed to give them in exchange for a favor.”  
“Mages and deals, how typical.”  
That caught her attention enough to make the girl finally turn around.  
“You do understand that you yourself are making deals left and right,” she rested her hands on her hips, “every time you go to the market?”  
“Funnily enough, no one there tried to cheat me out of my life and soul,” Fenris retorted.  
Bethany threw up her hands in exasperation and returned to her trek, scanning the sides of the road for valuable plants. Fenris followed her silently; he was still anxious to know what was it that Anders apparently managed to hide about his magic, but graciously afforded the girl a little time to cool off before further prodding. Luckily for him, she seemed to shrug the argument off pretty quickly.  
“Anders had a friend in the Circle here,” she continued, veering off the trodden path and kneeling before a nondescript bush, “whom he needed to smuggle out. He asked us to go with him as a safeguard.” She busied herself with clearing a patch of ground from grass and using some mini-shovel thing to dig up the plant’s roots.  
“I’m sensing the caution turned out to be justified,” Fenris interjected when the pause stretched a bit little too long. Bethany nodded, her fingers restlessly smoothing out the sides of a shallow hole.  
“We were too late: Anders’s friend was made tranquil. Which, by the way, is illegal to do to the mages already past their Harrowing!” she stabbed her shovel viciously into the ground. “There were also templars waiting for us, but before the fight could start Anders suddenly glowed, as if there were cracks in his skin and the bluish light was shining though.” The girl was still talking to the plant’s roots, but Fenris could make out a frown on her face and a slight shiver at the resurfaced memory. “His voice also changed, but most distinct of all was a sensation… it was like the veil between our world and the Fade parted for a moment, not in a violent tear but as a gentle sweep of a curtain. I’ve never before seen such magic used, and honestly, I don’t know if I want to witness it again…”  
She shook off the dirt clinging to the roots and put them away in her bag, then got back to her feet and rejoined Fenris on the path, flashing him a rueful smile.  
“Mages and deals, indeed,” she murmured. “Afterwards Anders told us that what we saw was a manifestation of the Spirit of Justice that shared his body, although he never went into details of their arrangement. Personally, I don’t think that any explanation would have justified it, pun intended.”  
So, Anders was an abomination. And even fellow mages were discomfited by the prospect of spending time near him. Fenris scowled in distaste.  
“He should be reported to the templars.”  
“Please don’t!” Bethany exclaimed, stopping and turning to look at the elf. “You won’t, will you? Anders is in control of it. And he does so much good in the Darktown, helping the refugees and all those who cannot afford a healer. He had also proved to be very helpful in brother’s various endeavors,” she blurted in a rush.  
“Sounds like a speech used to reassure one’s conscience.”  
“Oh, you!..” the girl huffed and turned back, resuming her walk up the mountainside.  
Fenris sighed, recognizing the futility of any further argument. Even though Bethany had admitted being uncomfortable around Anders, it was obvious she wouldn’t betray her fellow mage to the Gallows. Her assurance of Anders’s control of the entity was supported by his own observations: in all his dealings with the former Grey Warden he never noticed anything out of the ordinary – meaning ordinary for insufferable conceited mages with verbal diarrhea. Still, knowing that Anders could at any moment transform into some unnamable creature did not in any way endear him to the elf.  
“I’m surprised Hawke risked bringing you into a possible confrontation with templars,” he wondered aloud, deciding that there was no point in a new iteration of an already well-hashed-out topic of magic’s inherent danger.  
“There was little choice, really,” Bethany shrugged, bending to examine some periwinkle-blue flowers. “You know, it’s almost strange to think about the times when there were only two of us… well, three if you count Aveline. But it’s never prudent to involve a member of the city guard in shady affairs, right?” she half-turned, smiling over her shoulder. “Even Varrik was just a stranger who suggested a mutually beneficial deal, in those days,” she hummed to herself. “I can just imagine what you would’ve done were you there with us; probably spared templars the hard work of ridding Thedas of one more dangerous apostate.”  
Strangely, there was no anger in her words; they sounded almost like a gentle tease.  
“And yet you’ve chosen to entrust your life to this merciless creature in spite of a vastly improved pool of candidates,” he observed. Bethany chuckled.  
“Oh, I can just imagine the alternatives,” she drawled, “Isabela, for example, would surely…” but then she suddenly turned to Fenris with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Wait! Are you fishing for compliments?”  
The elf stopped too, honestly baffled. “What? Compliments? Don’t be absurd!”  
“No need to be defensive,” the girl chided, “it’s perfectly normal to want some praise from time to time.” Fenris instinctively cringed at the word ‘praise’. Danarius loved to ‘praise’ his pet when it performed to his satisfaction, but what was even worse, there had been a time when Fenris lived and breathed only for his master’s approval. Now he just wanted as little reminders of that part of his past as possible.  
Bethany, oblivious to the elf’s turmoil, went on cheerfully. “Out of all my brother’s companions you are possibly the most reliable; and a pleasant company, occasional complaint about mages notwithstanding. It’s also easiest for me to fight alongside you since you, like Terrance, prefer two-handed weapons and I know what to expect with your style. Though I must say,” she added thoughtfully, “that he was never that graceful with a maul. Oh, by the way, brother thinks very highly of your technique,” the twinkle in her brown eyes became almost blinding, “and was even heard to describe it as poetry in motion.”  
“Heard by whom, I wonder,” Fenris muttered rhetorically – the phrase had _Varrik_ written all over it.  
Further playful banter, however, had to be put on hold – the elf’s sensitive ears caught a whisper from behind the boulders further up the trail. Without a word he laid his hand on Bethany’s shoulder and nodded in the direction of an ambush before sprinting forward.  
Funny, how easy it was to snatch the element of surprise out of the bandits’ hands: a couple of hastily shot arrows completely missed the mark, and Fenris was in the middle of unfortunate robbers before most of them were able to draw swords and daggers. He exploded into action; his long, impeccably sharpened blade cutting though armor and flesh alike while he danced among his foes. Dash forward, strike, duck and turn, sweep while still crouching low, jump back, put a suddenly glowing hand through unresisting flesh – the steps and motions were easy and instinctive, executed almost faster than thought.  
The robbers, clustered as they were, only hindered each other’s movements and Fenris easily avoided their clumsy attempts at retaliation. And just as easily he sidestepped all of Bethany’s spells – his body moved aside automatically, long trained to react that way to magic. No wonder the girl found him to be a good partner in a fight, Fenris thought with a grim smile: Danarius was not the one to spare his slaves if they were in the way of his spells, so those who wanted to live learned to anticipate and evade. Those instincts were now so deeply ingrained that the elf never paid a conscious thought to the mage’s actions in a fight.  
Although afterwards, standing among bodies of their enemies, Fenris couldn’t help but admit that Bethany was a lot more considerate of her fighting partners: her spells were aimed with precision and she always chose to pick the targets one by one instead of using wide-range invocations if there was an ally in the mix. Not that there was a lot of effort involved in disposing of the threat this time.  
“I am unharmed”, Fenris informed her in answer to the questioning gaze.  
“They weren’t all that good at the robbing business, were they?” Bethany came closer to the boulders. “Fereldans,” she said in a subdued tone after checking the bodies, “just like us.”  
“Not exactly like you,” he was compelled to object, “considering the obvious difference in the method of earning money,” he nodded at her bag, half-filled with leaves and roots.  
“We were with the Red Irons for a year to pay for passage into Kirkwall, so…” she shrugged, “not that much of a difference in the end”. Fenris wisely kept silent. He could fill the blanks even without clarification: a band of mercenaries or smugglers – and the name was distinctive enough to guess which it was – was really a group of highwaymen that graduated to better arms and stricter organization. Still, being an ex-slave who was not above stealing and ransacking bodies of his pursuers, Fenris wasn’t one to criticize.  
“I’m always afraid that I’ll see someone I knew,” Bethany whispered when they were long past the scene of the failed ambush, “from Lothering, from other places we lived before, from the ship that took us to Kirkwall. What if I’m forced to kill someone who fled the Blight alongside me or… or patted me on the head when I was a little girl?” there was such sadness in her voice, sincere and unfamiliar to the elf, that for a moment he was afraid it could one day make Bethany hesitate in a crucial moment.  
“Better them than you,” he spat out quite a bit more angrily then intended.  
“What?” the girl was jolted out of her thoughts, looking as if she completely forgot about her companion. “Oh. Sorry. I guess this sounds really silly, considering…” she sighed, nodded to herself and resolutely marched on.

The silence didn’t bother Fenris at first. In fact, he was almost glad for it: he needed time to come to terms with the implications of his little outburst. The elf hoped Bethany took it as an expression of contempt for her weakness – it was far better than admitting that some apostate’s life held enough importance as to worry about it. What a joke! Mages were certainly capable of taking care of themselves!  
Although mages – in Fenris’s experience – also weren’t subject to fits of remorse over taking a stranger’s life.  
Fenris told himself that the reason he was going to ask Bethany about the properties of a flower she picked was purely practical. This kind of information was always useful, and it would do him good to find as much as he could about herbal remedies that grew right under his feet. It would also be good to distract himself from the internal debate, lest he starts feeling sorry, or worse, protective of the young apostate. And the conversation-cum-lecture that grew from that first eminently practical question was in no way aimed at taking Bethany’s thoughts away from the grim scene they’d left behind and lifting her spirits.  
The rest of the day was pleasantly free of any disturbances (not counting a couple of disoriented spiders who had obviously wandered too far from their home-cave), Bethany’s bag kept steadily filling with useful stems, leaves and flowers of various sizes and colors, and Fenris, to his own surprise, realized that he was actually enjoying himself.  
“It’s always sunny here, have you noticed?” Bethany asked when the light was turning pink with approaching sunset and they were on their way back to Kirkwall. “Back in Ferelden more often then not we had dark gloomy clouds spitting rain,” she shivered reflexively.  
“Are you perhaps also worrying that you will fall up into the clear sky?” Fenris suggested slyly earning a surprised laugh.  
“I’m not _that_ used to gloom!”  
“Who knows with you fereldans, you have some very quirky habits,” he commented. “On that note: is there a special meaning behind that knocking thing you do to my doors?”  
“Hmm? Oh! You mean the rhythm,” Bethany smiled. “I hadn’t noticed right away either, but it’s from Terrance’s favorite song. He is usually tapping a different line for every door he passes along the way to your… lounge?” it was obvious that she didn’t really consider his house an acceptable place for living, but was probably aware that all arguments were futile.  
“What is this song about?”  
“What are all the songs about in the end? Love, of course! I can sing it for you if you want,” Bethany suggested easily. Fenris nodded, finding himself curious to know what kind of songs – specifically love songs - was favored by the elder Hawke.  
The girl smiled again and inhaled deeply before starting to sing:  
“ _I am a young sailor,_  
_My story is sad_  
_For once I was carefree_  
_And a brave sailor lad_  
_I courted a lassie_  
_By night and by day_  
_But now she has left me_  
_And gone far away._

 _Oh if I was a blackbird,_  
_Could whistle and sing_  
_I'd follow the vessel_  
_My true love sails in_  
_And in the top rigging_  
_I would there build my nest_  
_And I'd flutter my wings_  
_O'er her lily-white breast…”_  
The song continued on, recounting the trials and sorrows of the unfortunate young man whose heart’s troubles remained unresolved even after five verses generously flavored with the refrain.  
“How come you know songs about sailors?” the elf asked after a brief pause when the song ended. “I thought Lothering was quite far inland?”  
“It is. Or was,” Bethany corrected herself sadly. “But we’ve used to move from village to village every couple of years; our childhood was mostly spent on the eastern coast of Ferelden. Mother loves music, she probably heard this song there and then sang it to us as a lullaby.”  
The elf sighed soundlessly; oh, how he wished to remember at least a tune that his own mother lulled him to sleep with…  
“Seems unwise to persist when fate, your parents and even the girl herself are against the happily-ever-after,” Fenris observed, recalling the lyrics to distract himself from unexpected melancholy. “Does Hawke really like this sort of thing?”  
“You bet!” Bethany laughed. “He also adores those tear-jerking stories where the hero has to overcome impossible odds and complete insanely difficult tasks to be with his one true love only to meet his tragic end at the hands of guileful friend-turned-traitor on the eve of reuniting with her,” she sighed. “I remember, he used to beg mother to tell them before bed – supposedly for me but it was obvious he wanted to hear them himself.” Fenris honestly tried to imagine Terrance Hawke – a calmest and most level-headed person he had met (not to mention a ruthless warrior when situation called for it) – secretly wiping off tears over a tragic love story, and came up with a total blank. “Brother is a romantic deep in his heart,” Bethany probably noticed his skeptical expression. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, I’ll grant you that, but he isn’t really hiding it either. It’s just…” she paused, trying to come up with the right words for the explanation, “his rationality gets in the way of romance most of the time; it would be interesting to observe him in a situation where feelings take precedence over reason,” her smile this time was positively devious, and Fenris got an uncomfortable impression that there was some sinister plot in the making. But in the next instant Bethany was all remorse and quiet alarm. “Don’t tell brother I said that! He doesn’t like being discussed behind his back. Anyway,” she plowed on, “I personally think that this sailor guy is a wimp. Instead of bemoaning his fate and making half-hearted attempts at seduction he should have gone for what he desired with everything he had.”  
“Hmph,” Fenris shook his head, “maybe he should have made a deal with a demon over it.”  
Bethany blinked at him incredulously for a moment before bursting into laughter – which was decidedly not a reaction the elf anticipated. “You are incorrigible!” she exclaimed. “And I think I’ve grown immune to this – I’m not even insulted anymore,” she added, still smiling.  
It was strange how he never felt compelled to argue with the younger Hawke over dangers of magic even when the girl didn’t take his warnings seriously – unlike with a certain other mage. “Funnily enough,” Bethany said, as if reading his thoughts, “I still like you better than Anders.”

Next time he heard a complicated pattern tapped on his doors, Fenris was able to match it to the rhythm of the sailor song, and this time the Hawke that appeared before him was the right kind – or the favored kind, to put in more precisely.  
“Hello, Fernis,” Terrance greeted with a customary pleasant smile that almost physically tugged at the corners of the elf’s lips.  
“Hawke,” he inclined his head in reply, “do you need my help with something?”  
“Not immediately. I was tasked with delivering your part of the reward for the flower gathering.” Matching actions to words, Hawke took a small pouch off his belt and dangled it in the air. He could have just as easily tossed it on the table, and Fenris wasn’t sure if it was another bizarre polite gesture or a teasing one. In any case, the money was dropped into his hand as soon as it was stretched out. “Bethany says that in was supposed to be twenty five percent but she’d fined you five for slander.” Hawke’s eyes were laughing from a completely serious face.  
Fenris himself was less interested in the money than in it’s bearer’s perfectly genial attitude. Terrance couldn’t have missed the fact that he once again maligned mages in general and – very probably – Hawke’s sister in particular. In fact, aside from the very first time, when Hawke made it clear that he would not let any harm come to his apostate of a sister, no matter Fenris’s experiences and opinions, he was surprisingly tolerant to any outbursts and accusations.  
“It doesn’t bother you at all?” Fenris found himself asking.  
“What? Being the glorified messenger boy? Not really,” the human retained his infuriatingly polite façade. Fenris answered with an unimpressed stare. “Oh, you mean the slander!” Hawke exclaimed in mock-enlightenment. “‘No’ to that too.”  
In the next moment, however, he effortlessly slipped from pretence to genuine seriousness.  
“I know you are a reasonable man, Fenris, and although you are understandably biased against mages, you are not undiscriminating. I don’t think that my sister is in danger from you, and that’s the only thing that matters to me,” Hawke’s gaze slid from the elf to a darkened corner of the room where pieces of broken furniture had been carelessly swept out of the way. “I’m not even sure your accusations could be called slander the way you formulate them – just enough generalization to make your feelings clear while maintaining the illusion that you’re aware of existence of rare exceptions.” There was a certain note of sly appreciation in his voice that baffled Fenris – not that he was going to show it.  
“The fact that I’ve never demanded you to set out on an Exalted March against all things magical must also count in my favor,” he suggested instead. Hawke chuckled.  
“Maybe you should,” he rejoined laughingly, “sometime when Anders can hear you.”  
That confirmed it. Fenris long suspected that Hawke secretly enjoyed watching Anders being riled up, but was too diplomatic to openly pick a side. Or, rather, he was able to take his fun from it without reference to his own opinion on the mage/templar ideological conflict, since he could hardly stand against the former with an apostate sister whom he obviously cared for deeply.  
“Meanwhile,” the fereldan continued, “we can march to the Viscount’s Keep and check if Aveline has any job for us that the guard is too incompetent to complete.”  
“And here I thought you’ve come all the way to the Hightown for the pleasure of my company alone,” Fenris sighed dolefully.  
“Why, that’s exactly why I’m proposing a _march_ –” Terrance answered, perfectly mock-serious once more, “–to prolong the pleasure.”  
“Then you’d better hope there is some gang or other that needs rooting out, or you’ll be all out of excuses.”  
Fenris strapped the greatsword to his back and graciously invited his guest to preceed him in exiting the room. His usual mantra of _‘nothing better to do anyway’_ was exchanged for a more honest thought: there was, in fact, little that could be better than accompanying Hawke, especially when he showed his charming side instead of simply polite one. In some ways it was almost like a thrall, subtle but very much irresistible, and Fenris should have probably been more cautious after already escaping from slavery once. But how could he resist the desire to fill his empty life with adventure, laughter and even a little bit of trust?  
Perhaps he would come to regret it in the end, but for now he chose to permit himself the indulgence.

**Author's Note:**

> The song used in the story is _If I was a blackbird_ by _Silly Wizard_. It is quite lovely, in my humble opinion.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading. This story is my first venture into the DA fandom and is posted as a one-shot, but I have quite a few ideas floating around in my head, so I would really appreciate a little feedback to decide if I should continue with it.


End file.
